Death's Master and The Walking Dead
by MissChriss
Summary: Voldemort decides that after failing to kill Harry Potter, again, that perhaps banishing him would be a better plan. Harry wakes up in the middle of the woods in Georgia unable to preform any magic. He thinks things are bad now but they are about to get worse when the dead start walking. What is the Master of Death going to do? Harry/Daryl Slash
1. Prologue

Death's Master and the Walking Dead

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter nor The Walking Dead

Author's Note: This fic is Slash and contains graphic description of decomposing corpses. You Have Been Warned.

Prologue

Harry stood toe to toe casting spell after spell at the dark lord however Voldemort blocked him at every turn. Harry scrambled over the rubble tumbling painfully down large pile of broken stone that had once been part of the school. A spell whizzed above his head smashing into the side of the building sending more debris falling on top of his head. Harry barely got the shield charm up before being crushed. He quickly stood up and continued running sending a cutting curse over his shoulder.

Harry stopped and turned to face Voldemort he sent his blasting curse just in time to connect with the killing curse the resulting pulse of magic sent both him and the dark lord flying back. Harry had to grit his teeth to stop from screaming out as he felt one of his ribs crack during impact. Harry took in a shaky breath and pulled himself up just as another killing curse landed next to him.

Harry had to admit Voldemort was powerful he did not tire casting killing curse after killing curse, a spell which took a considerable amount of energy to cast, without any rest. Harry could scarcely stand but the dark lord seemed no worse for wear. Harry braced himself for the incoming blast as their spells collided. Harry put as much strength in to his spell trying to over whelm Voldemort's curse but it was evenly matched before erupting into a shower of light knocking him to the ground again.

Harry stood up ready to face him again. He knew he couldn't last much longer it had taken all his strength just to stand. If he was going to die he was going to die standing. He smiled when he was the black smoke rushed out of the castle as the last horcrux was destroyed. Voldemort's face, however, contorted in disbelief when he realized what had happened.

"You're mortal now." Harry taunted his wand raised in front of him. Breathing was becoming difficult but he wouldn't let Voldemort see him weakening.

"You have defied me for the last time, boy." The dark lord growled out.

"You couldn't kill me last time what makes you think you can perform better now?" Harry knew it was suicide to bait Voldemort but he needed to stall for time he wasn't sure he would be able to cast anymore spells. His arm felt like lead but he dare not put it down.

"You are correct. You do seem rather resilient to the killing curse. Perhaps a different fate is in store for you. If death does not suit you then banishment shall be your fate." The last thing Harry saw was the dark lord falling to his knees in exhaustion and a deep blue light rushing towards him.

It was hot and the air was thick and humid when Harry awoke. It was dark and every part of his body ached. Harry felt the moist ground around him hoping to find his wand when his hand wrapped around the smooth familiar handle Harry gave a sigh of relief. Harry tried to sit up and cast a lumos spell when then in his chest was too much and he passed out.

Daryl was pissed off, Merle was in juvie again and his dad had spent all of their food money on booze and was passed out on the couch of their cabin. The sweat was rolling down his face and back as he quietly made his way through the woods. At seventeen he was a decent hunter but the squirrels were being elusive. He had given up finding food several hours ago and he was just following the trail back home, slowly not really wanting to go home and deal with father.

Daryl quickly spun around to his right when a loud crash and scream was heard. He squinted trying to see off into the darkness by the narrow beam of his flashlight. He almost didn't see it and was about to turn around when a glint of light show about two hundred yards in front of him. Daryl pulled out his crossbow and made his way through the woods he stopped in shock at the bleeding body in front of him.

Daryl looked down at the unconscious boy who was covered in blood. His clothing was nearly ripped to shreds and he was clutching a thin polished carved stick. Daryl was almost afraid to move him but it was dark and he could tell it was going to rain soon. The boy didn't stir at all in the twenty minutes it took to walk back to his house.

When he had finally gotten home he was glad his father was still knocked out on the sofa and he hoped that he would remain that way and not notice that the pickup was missing. Daryl knew he would be I for a world of hurt if his dad noticed the truck missing. Last time Merle took the truck to go into town their dad had taken a bottle to Merle's head and threw him into the cellar for two days. Merle was strong, not like him who was still a bit on the gangly side, but he was no match for ex-marine David Dixon who still fit despite spending most of his time drunk off his ass.

He had just gotten the boy situated in the passenger seat when he regained consciousness. He boy started struggling against the seat belt and panicking.

"Hey, hey, I ain't gonna hurt ya." Daryl told him while trying to restrain him so he wouldn't hurt himself. "I'm just gonna take ya to the hospital."

"No, no hospital." The boy said. Daryl didn't recognize the accent but he knew it wasn't American. The boy sounded panicked at the thought of going to the hospital.

"I can't just leave ya here you'll bleed to death." The boy seemed to be lost in thought for a moment probably think about what to tell him.

"I don't have insurance." The boy blurted out. "Most of these wounds are superficial. I just need to rest for a bit." The boy looked back at the house.

"Can't bring you in there mah daddy 'll pitch a fit." Daryl told him. "Look we got a shed out back I guess you can stay in there. It ain't got no window and you'll be hotter than a rat in the oven. I can bring you some water and bandages to clean out your wounds. I think we might have some ointment."

"Thanks" the boy said. "I appreciate it. I'm Harry by the way."

"Daryl." He replied helping Harry out of the car.

"Are you going to ask me what happened?"

"Nope." And that was that. Daryl helped Harry into the shed before running into the house to get the supplies.

Daryl helped Harry as best he could he was surprised by how fast the boy was healing. Daryl was able to discover that Harry was from England and in the US illegally which was why he couldn't go to the hospital. Harry never said why he was here or really much about his past in general but he did seem perpetually sad and especially when he looked at his stick. He told Daryl it was the only think he had from home. Daryl caught him waving it around like a conductor and he wondered if Harry had been part of an orchestra or something but Harry never said anything. Daryl did think it was cool that Harry had a holster on his forearm for his stick.

It was the first time he ever had anyone as a friend. Most people stayed away from him. "Them Dixon boys ain't nothin' but trouble." It what people in town would say. School wasn't any better when everything you own came from the goodwill and everyone knew you were the kid of the town drunk, well he was luck Merle watched out for him when he was younger. It was nice having someone to talk to. Harry would even help him catch squirrels. His dad had gotten his monthly check from the government and had run off to Atlanta to spend it with some whore in a motel six. Harry was shocked when Daryl told him that. Daryl knew he'd be gone for at least a week or two, he usually did this a couple times a year, and Harry had moved into the house.

Harry stayed for two weeks in the house. Then one day Harry said he had to go, he needed to find his friends. That was the last time he saw Harry until he was twenty-three.


	2. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter nor The Walking Dead

Author's Note: This fic is Slash of the Harry/Daryl variety and it will contain graphic description of dead bodies. You have been warned.

Death's Master and The Walking Dead

Chapter 1:

Harry was at a loss for what to do. He had no identification, no money, and apparently no magic. He had to use tried his wand several times, over the past few weeks, but nothing, not even a simple Lumos charm, would work. Harry wondered if his friends were even looking for him or if they thought he was dead. He hoped that someone had taken care of Voldemort after he left. Harry vaguely remembered the dark lord falling to his knees in exhaustion before he blacked out and wondered if that was enough.

Harry had to admit that living on the run for the past year had prepared him for wandering around the countryside. He had tried to get any information he could about home but the American muggle papers said nothing and the few times he listen to news in an electronics store were less then helpful.

Harry felt a bit guilty having stolen the wallet from the middle aged woman she reminded him of Mrs. Weasley. She was slightly plump with a kind smile and a gaggle of kids. She was also distracted by said kids and an easy target. So while she was bent over trying to soothe a screaming child who had dropped their ice cream cone Harry had walked quickly up behind her asked if she needed any help and reaching into her large brown tote bag he lifted the thick black wallet inside. He had never seen a pocketbook so large it was stuffed full of credit cards, photos of her children, five of them from what he could see, and coupons. Aunt Petunia would never use coupons they were for the poor and she refused to let any of the neighbors think that the Dursley family was lacking in any funds.

Harry pulled out all of the cash as soon as he made his getaway down a small alley next to the 300 bowling place. Harry threw the rest of the wallet into the dumpster, he had what he needed. He needed the money; he needed to find out if he was still in his home world. Harry was terrified when the idea that he was not only banished across the pond but perhaps another world all together but when no one knew anything about the attacks in London it was starting to look more and more likely that Voldemort had banished him to a place he had no hope of returning. Harry had to know and the only people he could contact were the Dursleys. So Harry walked into a store called 7-11 and bought a phone card. Unfortunately Harry couldn't find a pay phone.

Harry had wondered all day and it was nearing dark. Harry had pulled up all his courage and knocked on the door of a nice suburban house. It was painted white though parts of the outside were pealing from the heat. Aunt Petunia would have never let her house look like that. What would the neighbors think? But the flowers were nice and the door was painted a dark blue. Harry knocked on the door and a man with dark black hair and a 5'oclock shadow answered.

"I was wondering if I could use your phone?" Harry asked holding up his phone card. The man smiled and led him into the kitchen where a very thin woman with blond hair and a huge smile poured him a glass of iced tea which was sweetened, with entirely too much sugar, but the icy drink felt like heaven none the less.

Harry got up and walked over to the cream colored telephone attached to the wall of the kitchen. Dialing quickly Harry held his breath as he waited for someone to pick up the phone on the other end. His heart turned to lead as a voice that was definitely not his Aunt Petunia answered the phone.

"Hello, may I speak to Petunia Dursley please?" Harry asked.

"I'm sorry you have the wrong number." The man on the other end replied.

"Is this not the number for number 4 Privet Drive?"

"It is but no Petunia Dursley lives here." Harry couldn't breathe. Here it was proof that he was never getting home, he would never see any of his friends again. For the first time in ages Harry wanted nothing more than to curl up and cry.

"I'm sorry I think I have the wrong number." And with that Harry hanged up the phone. He turned and walked back through the living room in a daze said thank you and good bye to the people who lived there and walked out the front door. Not really paying any attention to where he was going Harry found himself wandering back to the ally next to the bowling alley and he sat down on a large cardboard box next to the dumpster.

The sun was streaming in through the dirty window of his apartment. Thousands of particles of dust, pollen, and dirt danced in its rays but Harry didn't notice. Neither did he notice the hot air which was so saturated in humidity that it threated to drown him. The sweat was rolling down his topless back and pooling on the wooden floor beneath him. He hadn't moved in hours he just sat there eyes closed visualizing.

He slowly picked up his wand taking a deep breath he pointed it at the pile of junk in front of him. "Reparo." He said his voice strong and demanding. Magic slowly flared up in him and shot out the tip of his wand enveloping the pile. The pile which was nothing but a heap of broken junk started to repair itself. A wooden jewelry box with a twirling ballerina in a white tutu, a glass angel, and a pair of lion book ends, now stood fully repaired as if they were brand new and not pilfered from a rubbish bin broken beyond repair.

Harry smiled exhaustedly and put his wand back into its holster. He was breathing heavily now and his muscles ached but he loved the feeling of his magic. When he had first arrived in this world he was distraught to learn that there was no magic. It had taken him time to understand that the strange feeling in the air was a distinct lack of magic. Without any ambient magic to draw from it was useless.

Then one day about six months after he arrived he felt a spark deep within himself. It took a lot of work and finally putting his weak occlumency skills to work but he had finally been able to access his magic. Unfortunately it was weak and tired him out. It did however give him hope that he could survive. Lately he had been using his magic to repair small items and sell them at the flea market in town. It wasn't much but it was enough to keep him off the streets.

That was nearly two years ago living hand to mouth and roaming the streets of Atlanta. He was lucky that his skills at running from Dudley and quidditch had left him quick and nimble often times getting himself out of tight situation. After gipping a broomstick at 80 km/hrs leaping across an alley way from one fire escape to another was easy peasy.

Harry had met a guy named Angelo who hooked him up with an identity. It cost him everything he had plus a little stint as a drug runner but it had been worth it. He officially existed in this world and had a social security number and bank account to prove it. He had been saving everything he could lately he wanted to get out of the city. There was nothing really wrong with Atlanta but he had this nagging feeling that this wasn't where he was supposed to be. He wanted to get back to the small town where he first arrived.

Harry picked himself up and added the two new items to the table. He had fixed nearly a dozen things that evening a new record. It was sure to make him some good money this weekend but right now he needed to shower and go to sleep. He had work in the morning; those eggs weren't going to cook themselves. Davies Diner wasn't a bad place to work but it opened at 4am which meant that Harry had to be there to prep the kitchen at 2:30.

As Harry dried his hair with a ratty beige towel and flopped on his bed to fall asleep he wondered what his friends were up to. Did Ron and Hermione ever get married? Did Ginny ever make the professional Quidditch team? Did they ever think about him? He briefly wondered how Daryl was doing and wished he had the state of mind to get contact information before he ran off.

AN: Thanks for reading. Please leave a review.


	3. Chapter 2

Death's Master and the Walking Dead

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter nor The Walking Dead

Author's Note: This fic is slash if that is not your cup of tea, well move along. There is also course language and content in this chapter and the story will eventually take a more gruesome turn once the apocalypse starts.

Chapter 2:

I was born as life began and as long as life exists on any realm I shall never cease to be. I am Death. I am absolute; for if you have life so shall you meet Death.

There have been many who have tried to defy me, prolong their meager existence. They have begged and bartered, but still they could not hide from me. Others have attempted to find a power greater than their own thinking in vain that such demons hold any sway over me. But alas the fools are but petty annoyances.

I am not God, do not have any control over the lives of men, and though their tries of avoiding me are bothersome I cannot directly interfere. Such irksome rules we are governed by so I have created my champions, the few mortals I deem worthy of welding a fraction of my power. Poor, pathetic mortals who believe that they are rewarded, that they have concord me, mastered me only to die and find themselves my soldiers.

I keep my pets for a few hundred years sending them from realm to realm dealing with a few pesky problems that interfere with my timeline and my reaping. But never have I had a predicament quite like this. How dare this interloper meddle with his reaping, this demonic pestilence had some nerve?

He could see it coming and there was nothing he could do to stop it, and it pissed him off. His newest champion was not ready he had not mastered the Hallows, but even if he was ready this was not something one could stop. The abomination had to happen his sisters of fate had spoken, little bitches that they were.

They never tell why something has to happen and heaven forbid that it affect his schedule his job, but no the abomination must walk with their shiny souls festering inside their rotting corpses. It sickened him.

"Get over here Sugar Tits," Merle hollered across the Lucky Lady strip parlor. He was in a deep slouch in one of the red pleather chairs with his dirty blue jean clad legs splayed wide open. Merle locked eyes with one of the strippers, a blond, big breasted, girl he doubted was older than twenty, and gestured to his lap, with his bottle of ice cold pilsner, indicating he wanted a lap dance. Merle turned to his friend, a rather squirrely looking dude, with a plaid shirt and a curly mullet, and clicked their bottles together nodding in appreciation for the curly haired blond head toward them.

The girl rolled her hips and gyrated effortlessly across his lap her spandex covered ass rubbed seductively against his tight jeans. Merle could not hide his drunken smirk as he watched her large D sized breasts shake in his face.

As the song ended Merle reached up pulling her close and stuffed a hundred down her tight boy shorts and whispered in her ear, "Tell Max, Merle is here to see him." The girl's eyes widen and she quickly made her way across the bar to the back room.

It didn't take long before Merle was led into the back room by a leggy brunette in spike heels, not that Merle noticed her shoes since his eyes were glued to her lace covered ass. She stopped at shiny black lacquer door. "Right this way sir," she said gesturing for him to enter the door way.

The room was dimly lit with dark carpet and deep red walls. Merle noticed two plush red velvet sofa's near the back of the room each with a gorgeous young hot girls lounging on them. The girls, unlike the topless ones in the bar, were completely nude the tiny Asian one sporting an impressive bush. Not Merle's cup of tea but nice to look at all the same.

"Mr. Dixon, I've been hearing good things about you. You seem to be moving product well."

"Yea well, ya give me good shit, sells fast." Merle replied giving all of his attention to the well-dressed man in front of him.

"Good, I want you to expand your territory are you up the task." Merle didn't get the chance to respond when his cell phone rang. He wanted nothing more than to throw the object into the nearest wall. He sincerely hoped that Mr. Max wouldn't have him beaten or shot from what Merle heard from Jasper Mr. Max had a bit of a temper.

"Are you not going to answer that?" Mr. Max's voice was cold and clipped sending a shiver down Merle's spine.

Merle was not one to be freighted ever. He got a kick out of shooting Iraqis for him war was fun just point and shoot where Uncle Sam tells you. It was all fun and games until he mouthed off to his superior, man had a stick up his ass a mile long and took great offence when Merle pointed it out. Who knew one could be court marshaled so quickly. Jasper, Lt. Jasper Reid, put him in touch with his cousin Andrew who was working selling smack for Mr. Max throughout the Atlanta area, and well so far it had been a profitable enterprise.

"Wasn't planin' ta." It was one thing to piss off his superior officer and quite another to piss off a man who would derive pleasure from shooting him in the face.

"Go on then put it on speaker." Merle grit is teeth and did as he was told.

"Dixon." He answered.

"Merle, 'bout time ya answered."  
"Daryl, whadda' want, I'm busy." His little brother always had terrible timing.

"Dad's dead thought ya might wanna know."

"About damn time." He responded, there was a grunt on the other end then a click as his little brother hung up.

"So your old man is dead, you okay with that." Mr. Max almost sounded concerned; if you mixed up concerned with indigestion.

"My dad was ass, wasn't worth the tissue I wipe ma ass with." Merle replied.

"You are dismissed." Mr. Max said as he moved over to pick up his drink. "I will call you with the detail. And Mr. Dixon do not ever leave your phone on in my presence again." With that he gestured to the door and moved over to a plush red sofa on the other side of the room.

Harry idly wondered if Daryl still lived in town. He didn't really see him sticking around after finishing school. Personally Harry felt the farther away from David Dixon, Daryl got the better. But still, Harry thought it would have been nice to see him again. He never really got the chance to thank him six years ago.

Harry had scrimped and saved and finally had the cash to move back to that small town. He had opened up an odd's and ends store where he sold the things he fixed and refurbished. It was a good life; a hell of a lot different than what he had imagined, but not a bad life. He rarely thought about the wizarding world now.

It was near closing and Harry figured that no one else was going to show up. He vaguely considered closing up early. He hadn't really had a day off since he opened since he couldn't afford to hire anyone else to run the shop and frankly he was getting a bit stressed out. Even when he wasn't working he was either hunting new broken junk or back in his cabin fixing it. He was trying to get a good back stock ready so he would always have merchandise on hand.

Harry was heading to the door in order to flip the closed sign when the chime above the door rang. It took Harry a moment but he'd recognized that face anywhere.

"Daryl." Harry said surprised.

"Harry."

"I thought you left town?" they both said at the same time.

"I came back." Harry replied

"Never left," was Daryl's response.

"Oh." Harry muttered. "I don't think I ever got the chance to say thanks so… er… thanks you know for saving me." Harry said with a bright smile.

Daryl was stunned he never really thought he would see his first friend again. He completely forgot why he came in the store in the first place.

"I'm gonna go fishin' on Saturday you wanna come?" Daryl asked.

"Yea, sure sounds fun." Harry didn't even think about the fact that he was going to have to close up the shop on his busiest day.

"You got a rod?"

"Yep, I bought her up in Atlanta last summer. I haven't really had much chance to use her though."

"That's fine. You still know where the cabin is?"

"Yes."

"Good we leave at 5."

"I'll bring the beer."

"Look at you all assimilated and shit, you got a rod, got your beer, we'll make a southerner out ya yet." With that Daryl turned around and walked out of the store.

AN: Okay so here is the latest installment sorry for the wait, I have no clue where this is going, I really should have planned this out a bit, but well we will just have to see where the muse takes me. I'm probably going to move up the time line in the next few chapters of so because I really want to start writing about the walkers.

I should also have the next chapter in Shattered Magic up soon.

I have this really good idea for a HP/LOTR crossover and it is really nagging at my brain but I am not sure if I want to start another project while I am working on two fics already but my muse is being a bit annoying.

Anyway Good, Bad leave a review tell me what you think.


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